


A Debt of Honour

by BadassIndustries



Series: Dancing Through Life [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Complete Gender Equality, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Period-Typical Homophobia, Alternate Universe - Regency, And a lot of Sapphic Sighing in Pretty Period Dresses, Despite this start, F/F, Fluff and Romance, Regency Romance, Valjean & Fantine: Platonic Parents to Cosette, this story will contain very little Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadassIndustries/pseuds/BadassIndustries
Summary: Barely twenty years of age and in love, Fantine believed that Tholomyes had arranged her daughter’s engagement to the eldest child of his business partner to ensure their future happiness. It was only later that she realised Cosette had been no more than a bargain to satisfy Felix Tholomyes’ debts. Now Cosette has come of age, the engagement has come to haunt them.A Regency Romance telling the story of how Cosette’s forced engagement led her to find the love of her life.





	1. Letters received and Plots thwarted

**Author's Note:**

> The final story in the Dancing Through Life series, this is chronologically the earliest. This story takes place roughly over the span of a year and will end at the De Courfeyrac ball.  
> It's a standalone, so you won't need to read the other stories in the series. You just need to know that this universe has complete gender equality and therefore no homophobia either. Also, Fantine is a Captain now. Because I said so.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

“No. You cannot make me.” Cosette stares down at her embroidery. Five minutes ago her only concern had been that she might run out of silk before she finished her gardenias. And now this.

“I am truly sorry, dearheart. But it was decided when you were but a child. Your father-”

“That man is _not_ my father.”

Cosette raised her eyes, looking her mother in the face for the first time since she had explained the news. Angry tears were forced back down as Cosette continued.

“He left us. I owe him no duty. And I shall certainly not allow myself to be married off because that, that _blackguard_ promised something he had no right to give!”

Fantine sank down on the ground next to her daughter, creasing her fine muslin. Today was supposed to be a quiet, calm time for family, for both mother and daughter to enjoy Fantine’s leave from the regiment.

“My little Euphrasie, you owe him nothing. Were it only his word I would consign this letter to the fireplace in an instant. But it is not. When you were but a babe, he persuaded me that it would be a sure way to provide for your future. I am afraid it is a debt of honour.”

Fantine looked up at her daughter’s carefully controlled face. She was resolved not to cry. If her little lark could face the future without tears, then so could she. She wished for the security and comfort of her uniform. For a moment she wished she had had her uniform when she was still young and innocent. Her uniform and her sword, and the knowledge what Tholomyes was going to do to them. Fantine, now used to the officer’s mess, had a lot more choice words then merely ‘blackguard ’for the man who had robbed her of her innocence and now, 10 years after she thought they were safely rid of him, tried to ruin the happiness of her beloved daughter. Barely twenty years of age and in love, Fantine thought that Tholomyes had been right and the engagement between her darling and the eldest child of Tholomyes’ business partner had been arranged to ensure their future happiness. It was only later when she realised Cosette had been no more than a bargain to satisfy Felix Tholomyes’ debts. At the time, it had seemed such a triumph. Felix had been so brilliant as to secure a future for their daughter, even when she had been born out of wedlock. Fantine had been so very grateful. Now, she wished for nothing more than to call him out and make him answer for his actions.

Cosette sat motionless, clutching her embroidery hoop hard enough that the delicate wood creaked. Fantine took it out of her cramped hands, replacing it with her own.

“I promise we will do everything in our power to break off the engagement,” she said softly, with surety. Cosette lifted her eyes from where they were gazing unseen at their clasped hands. The scared look in her eyes turned into mild hope was more than enough that Fantine knew with absolute surety she would kill if it meant keeping her daughter safe from an unhappy marriage.

“But a contract was signed,” Fantine continued, “and until they can be persuaded to cry off, we must consider ourselves bound to it.”

She kissed Cosette’s hands.

Cosette Fauchelevent squared her shoulders, displaying the strength she normally hid behind a sweet smile and painstakingly curled locks.

“Very well,” she said, with determination, wiping unshed tears out of her eyes, “We will find a way to break this contract in a manner befitting a gentle. Until then, I suppose I must see myself as bound to this Thènardier girl.”

~ * ~

“Engaged?”

Marius Pontmercy’s handsome face was overcome with shock, eyebrows pulled up dramatically on his high forehead.

“How can it be? Does Mister Valjean know?”

He looked so normal, so familiar. For a moment Cosette regretted that they did not elope when they were fourteen and convinced that their love was written in the stars. Certain discoveries might have made their union one of only friendship, but a life bound to her best friend would be Elysium compared to being bound to some fortune hunting stranger. Cosette was certain that the original contract as arranged by their fathers was not made with their children’s happiness in mind, but for more pecuniary reasons. She doubted that the man who she then called Father mentioned the fact that as a child born out of wedlock, Cosette would have little hope of ever being respectable, or of being accepted by his rich family. No doubt Thènardier was concealing similar facts.

“No, Papá does not know. My mother did not even know,” she said sadly. “Of course she signed the contract, but did not know exactly how binding it was. She thought it was merely a promise to secure my future happiness.”

Cosette could not feel anger for her mother, unwed and unlettered, trying her best to give her little girl a future. Anger at the wretches who would hold her to that deal, over a decade after the man who struck it is abandoned them, was all too easy to summon.

“But why would they write to you now? You are not even formally of age?” asked Marius.

“That is a good point,” said Cosette, sinking down on the sofa next to Marius. They both looked about the drawing room defeatedly, bereft of answers. Suddenly Marius turned back to her.

“Could it have been because of Fantine’s commendation? They could have seen it in the newspaper. Perhaps they found you that way?” Marius smiled excitedly. “That’s actually quite romantic, is it not? Engaged from your infancy, lost by circumstance, brought together by pure luck.”

His smile faltered in the face of Cosette’s unimpressed look.

“Of course, I only meant that if it were a novel it would be a good story.” He blushed a little, hard to discern with his dark skin, but Cosette was something of an expert when it came to Marius Pontmercy. Marius, for all his shyness and disinclination to enter into a relationship himself, was a dyed in the wool romantic.

“Marius!” Cosette gasped, turning to her friend and grasping his hands in the excitement of this sudden insight. “That article! It ended with the mention of the Captain currently residing in Madeleine Park! Any inquiry would give the size of the estate. You’re a genius, my friend. They only wrote to Mama now, because they think I’m some heiress.”

“But you are?” said Marius quizzically, blushing still from her excited compliment. A slow, calculating smile spread over Cosette’s features.

“No, I am not. In fact, I am the poor bastard daughter of a penniless, commissioned officer with no further prospects, living upon the charity of a local benefactor.”

Marius looked down at their hands, and back at Cosette’s satisfied smile.

“But you are not penniless. And you know Mister Valjean and the Captain have set aside a sizeable dowry for you. And any money not for charity will be willed to you and your mother, I am sure,” he said, looking lost. Cosette patted his hand.

“Why yes, you know that, but it is not common knowledge. If Mama were to write them a letter, telling of our reduced circumstances, I am sure these Thènardiers will forget their claim upon me in a hurry. No need to tell them that Papá will always provide for us. He has not adopted me formally and so I can make no claim on him. Or at least, that is what these wretches of fortune hunters will believe.”

“Come, Marius,” she pulled her friend out of the room, “we must go and tell mother of your solution.”

~*~

The letter was sent and every month a reply did not come, Cosette and Fantine found themselves breathing a little easier. Marius friend Courfeyrac came from town and Cosette let herself be swept away into a whirlwind of flirtation and charitable endeavours. While Monsieur Courfeyrac’s flirtations might not have been to her taste, his obvious love for Marius endeared him to her immediately. As did his eagerness to help her and her father with their schemes to help the poor. As soon as she was assured that his flirtatious manner was in no way an attempt to secure his interests with her, but that he acted the errant flirt with everybody he encountered, she was quite pleased to call him her friend.

Courfeyrac brought with him a circle of friends who were even more eclectic an passionate than himself, some of whom Cosette was surprised to find she had already encountered in London. She was very glad to renew her acquaintance with them and of the variety they brought to the otherwise quiet neighbourhood. Their setting up of the Society for Social Change was so wholly engaging that Cosette quite forgot about the one day she feared herself to be bound for life.

Little did she know that this debt of honour would change her life forever. She had forgotten that her forced betrothal needed not one, but two young ladies to give up their freedom and agree to a marriage. And Éponine Thenardier had already taken every step possible to escape that fate.


	2. Damsels Rescued and Kisses Bestowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Cosette meets a pretty stranger, saves a damsel and wins a parlour game

Cosette was doing errands in the village, procuring such necessities as rosettes for her shoes and lemon drops for her father. He liked to hand them out to the children he encountered on his walks in the fields, a habit that made him a great favourite with every child in town  
While waiting in line for the shopkeeper to help her, her gaze was drawn back to the road, where a carriage she didn’t recognise was stopping. A young lady alighted from it, closely followed by a young girl in the poke bonnet of a schoolhouse Miss. The lady had enviable brown curls framing her delicate face. Her walking habit was modish and of a fashionable cut, but the material looked sturdy. She was very pretty. Marius would like the style of her hair very much. They walked off arm in arm and Cosette regretted the fact that she was not closer to properly inspect their faces or see where they were going. It was not often that such pretty strangers came to their village. She was distracted by her turn at the counter and the lovely stranger was banished from her mind as she scrambled to find her shopping list.

The preparations for the next Ball would in about a week take on feverish energy for most of the young gentles in the neighbourhood, but right now there were earlier delights to look forward too. Cosette hated rushing people, so she had made her appointment with the mantuamaker well in advance. She was therefore very surprised when she arrived at the dressmaker the next day, only to be met with apologetic faces.

"A thousand pardons! I don't know how my apprentice could have made such a foolish mistake, Miss Fauchelevent. It's just with the ball given on such short notice and everybody needing a new gown and not every gentle in town being so considerate and clever as to plan ahead, the boy took on a rush order. I let him because he's a neat stitcher and ought to learn some independence, but the muttonhead forgot that with the draft in the second room we've only one fitting room. And he's got the new Miss all pinned up in there, completely neglecting that it's you, Miss, who has the right to it!"  
Cosette fixed a kind smile on her face as she listened to the frantic explanation and excuses of the dressmaker. She really needed her dress to be made now.  
"Perhaps," she broke through the fifth apology, "You might still fit me now. I have no problem with sharing the room, if your other client does not."

The dressmaker looked as if she had suggested she go about in only her garters.  
"No Miss. It wouldn't be proper! Two young ladies alone, seeing each other in a state of undress, with only myself and young Peter to lend it countenance, it can't be done!"

Peter came looking at what his mistress was so outraged about. Upon seeing Cosette, he too looked very sorry. He also looked like he might have a solution to their problem, if only the dressmaker would let him speak.  
"Do we still have the screen Ma'am? The one your uncle gave you? Only if I were to fetch it and place it on the half of the room they'd both be provided with a private space and that'd be alright, wouldn’t it?"

This course of action agreed upon, Cosette was plied with tea, further apologies and the latest Belle Mode to await the arrival of the screen.

Separated by the screen, she saw only a head of dark curls. She stepped onto the platform, but was made to turn to the wall immediately, to provide best light for the correct placement of buttons. She did not know whether to be glad she might go through this awkwardness without having to encounter the lady on the other side of the screen or be curious who the interloper was who presumed she could walk into Madam Robert’s shop without an appointment and get served anyway. The arrangement of her hair was very fashionable, that's for certain. Her hair fell down in neat ringlets where it was not held back by a ribbon. It was the kind of Grecian arrangement Cosette could not manage without Marius’ help.

Cosette dared not turn her head for fear of disturbing the pins in her collar, robbing her of the sight of the lady stepping down and leaving the room. It was a shame, but her gown was turning out so lovely she soon forgot to mind it.  
~*~

 

Holding her parcels in hand, Cosette strolled to the fields separating Madeleine Manor from the village. Turning into a lane to catch the afternoon sun, she stumbled upon a young girl sitting upon the stile, looking out dejectedly, turning her neat bonnet over and over in her hand. She looked up with a start from when she heard Cosette approach. The girl looked far too young to be out without her governess.  
"Good afternoon, Miss, might I offer you some assistance? Are you lost?"  
The girl looked at Cosette and shook her head wildly.  
“I was just walking into the village to deliver a note to Mrs Martin for Miss Simplice. The servants were so busy and I wanted to enjoy the sun and look at the new gowns again. And I did not get lost.” Her neat breads swung around with her vehement denial. “And besides,” said the girl, putting on a prim air, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Cosette fought to keep from laughing at this high-minded air and to avoid injuring the girl’s pride.  
“I suppose I must then introduce myself post-haste, so that you can without impropriety allow me to help you.”  
She smiled at the girl and made her a firm bow.  
“I am Miss Fauchelevent, my father has long been a friend to Miss Simplice, perhaps she has spoken of us. Are you visiting with her?”  
“I am Azelma,” said the girl, attempting a bow from her perch. “And I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Fauchelevent. Miss Simplice said we ought to wait for folk to call on us, so it was mighty dull, the past few days when we did not know a soul.”  
She smiled prettily at Cosette, who took this information to mean that she was indeed a guest at Miss Simplice’s house.  
Miss Simplice Lazariste kept a modest house near the village, but spent most of her time away from it in charitable endeavours. It was a small wonder that the town’s gossips had not yet caught onto her return, especially if she brought novelty in the form of young guests.

“But how came you to be upon this stile, Miss Azelma?” asked Cosette, very careful to not insinuate Azelma was lost. “Miss Simplice’s house is situated but a field and a half away from here, and you did not seem to be here merely to enjoy the breeze.”

Azelma sighed a very indelicate sigh and tugged at her pigtails.  
“No, it’s just that I broke my shoelace and could not determine whether I had better take it off and soil my stockings or attempt the walk barefoot.”  
Cosette, who had spent the first years of her life happily barefoot, laying in the dirt, was surprised that this girl with her neat green frock and pretty matching bonnet would even contemplate going barefoot.  
“And then I thought how displeased Miss Simplice would be, so I had perhaps better attempt to walk back and beg a replacement in the village. But I also would not like to be the girl without any shoes on her feet again and it was so unpleasant that I decided to sit down and think harder on what to do.” She sighed again, looking up at Cosette with pitiful eyes.

“I see,” said Cosette, looking down at Azelma’s swinging her feet with one shoe hanging off her toes, “Quite the conundrum. Although I think I can present you with a solution. I haven’t any shoelaces to give you, but—” she took off her bonnet and placed it on the stile next to Azelma “—I should think my hair ribbon will do just as well.”  
Azelma gasped. “Oh no Miss! It is far too pretty for you to do such a thing. It will spoil! And it’s such a pretty shade of blue too!”  
Cosette started unpinning the ribbon, ignoring Azelma’s protestations. “I can think of no nobler purpose for a ribbon than to see a damsel in distress safely home again.”  
She smiled. “Now, if you’ll allow me.”  
Despite her worries, Azelma allowed to Cosette to lace up her shoe with the gaily coloured ribbon.  
“Now Miss Azelma, shall we continue onwards? I believe we may walk together at least half of the way.”  
Azelma jumped down the stile, heedless of her petticoats.  
“Oh yes, shall you walk me home? Cook promised me tea and a biscuit after I deliver the message.”  
“Oh no,” said Cosette, shaking her head with a smile.  
“We haven’t been properly introduced, I couldn’t possibly. But rest assured, my father and I will call on Miss Simplice soon, so we can be properly acquainted.”  
This soothed Azelma’s disappointment and she skipped along the path leading to both their homes.  
She did not however, have to press her papa to call on his old friend to meet Azelma's sister. She had the honour to meet her new neighbour that very same evening.  
~*~

Mrs Favourite Blanchevelle was the gayest, wittiest and –above all– merriest widow in all of ––. She was however, prone to bouts of dissatisfaction and boredom. Whenever such a dark mood threatened, she gathered every young person in the neighbourhood about her for impromptu parties and schemes. She kept a very good table and was always in command of the latest fashions and gossip, making her an indispensable part of ––shire society.  
Tonight, she had organised what she called only a small party of her closest friends to join her in an evening of cards and games. When she arrived, Cosette was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of noise emanating from the drawing room. Anticipating this very event, Mister Valjean had excused himself and allowed Captain Crawford, a dear colleague of her mother’s, to escort her to tonight’s gathering. Both Captain Crawford and Favourite were old friends of her mother, though from different times of her life, and looked upon her as “quite their own” when it suited them. In the parlour, all was lively amusement. A table of whist and of piquet had been made up for the more sedate guests in the adjoining room, but here all were engaged in a very lively game of blindman’s bluff. Captain Crawford, after having kissed her hand at all her usual beaux, embraced Favourite in a friendly manner, bidding Cosette to run along and enjoy herself. The Captain herself intended to sit down and try her resolve against Favourite’s impeccable head for numbers in a game of whist. Cosette continued round the room, greeting neighbours and friends and delivering her father’s regrets.  
To her surprise, she encountered Miss Simplice Lazariste, who was regarding the games happening around her with a pleased expression. While Miss Simplice, as she was known in the neighbourhood, shared Favourite’s taste for dainties, she never engaged in any game requiring the uttering of untruths, making her presence here quite wonderful. Unable to resist the opportunity for gossip, Cosette sat down by her.  
“Miss Simplice, how do you do? I did not know you had returned to us?”  
“Miss Fauchelevent, what a pleasure to see you again. I hope your father is well?” and thus she continued with pleasant commonplaces, with not a word about her guests. Cosette was close to giving up all subtlety when a young lady in an evening primrose gown approached then, sat down by Simplice and immediately jumped up again when she saw Cosette.  
“I beg your pardon,” she cried, a blush colouring her dark complexion. “I didn’t see you! Or I did, but I forgot we haven’t been introduced.” She sighed and looked at Miss Simplice with supplicating eyes.  
“Miss Fauchelevent, may I present to you my ward, Miss Jondrette? She and her siblings are lately returned from school.”  
Cosette bobbed a curtsy and uttered the appropriate greetings to the neighbourhood. She tried to do so in a friendly, reassuring manner, since Miss Jondrette was still silent and blushing, though the grimace had left her face. The blush blooming on her cheeks was very becoming, but Cosette preferred any newcomers to feel at ease in her company. She resolved to draw her out and seated herself next to Miss Jondrette for ease of conversation. Miss Jondrette looked to the ground, seeming to be muttering silently to herself. Cosette cast around for a topic of conversation, anything to make this new lady stop dwelling on her mistake. Her gown, perhaps? The primrose lace on Miss Jondrette’s evening primrose gown was very fine. But Cosette did not want to seem like one of those gentles who had no conversation beyond fashion.  
“Do forgive me, Miss Jondrette,”said Cosette, when she could no longer contain her curiosity and still at a loss for an inoffensive topic, “but have we met before perchance? In town, or at school perhaps? You seem very familiar, but I cannot quite recall why.”  
Cosette knew very well she had never formally met Miss Jondrette, but something about the elegant turn of her head kept tugging at her memory. The remark was a misstep however, as Miss Jondrette seemed only to sink more into herself.  
“I believe I may have inadvertently stolen your appointment with the mantuamaker” said she, apologetically.  
“That’s right,” gasped Cosette, delightedly, “you were the lady in the Pomona green gown. It looked very fine.”  
“And I do apologise,” rushed Miss Jondrette to say, “the dressmaker said it was fine and with the ball next week I really thought haste was in order.”  
“It’s quite alright,” said Cosette, rather longing to take her hand and pat it consolingly, saddened she was upset by such a trifle. “No offense was meant and certainly none was taken. If anything, it made for an entertaining story.”  
Miss Jondrette looked at Cosette, well-formed mouth pursed in disbelief. It remained unspoken only because they were interrupted by Courfeyrac, who fell upon them with affectionate smiles and the light-hearted reproach that they were far too young and beautiful to be so dull as to be sitting down when there were games to be played.  
Did they not notice that the game of blind man’s bluff was quite finished and a new game was to start? Both ladies readily stood up to join the excitement. The new game was to be Metamorphosis, a game of wordplay and wit, with ample to opportunity to tease one’s friends. It came to no surprise to Cosette that Courfeyrac was the one who had picked it. He was the one allowed to start of the game as soon as they were all of them assembled around the fire, the Misses Martins seated giggling side by side on the same chair. The subject of their giggling was seated next to them, enjoying the attention. Mister Thomas Davies was a promising young clerk in Favourite’s company and handsome enough she had called on him to make up the numbers to their party.  
Captain Crawford fetched a chair for Cosette and Miss Jondrette. Miss Jondrette kept glancing at Cosette surreptitiously from behind her curls, wariness plain on her face. Cosette suspected Miss Jondrette actually thought her angry about the mishap at the mantuamaker. She resolved to let her know no resentment was felt at the earliest possible moment. The idea of Miss Jondrette feeling any anxiety in Cosette’s company was unacceptable.  
Captain Crawford claimed for herself the title of storyteller. Courfeyrac, still standing so he could be perfectly in the centre of attention, started of the game smiling at everyone in excitement.  
“I should like to be a penknife, what say you to that, my fair friends?”  
Captain Crawford leant elegantly against the mantle and solemnly spoke the words required to explain the game.  
“If our dear Courfeyrac was a penknife, what would you do with him, what would you think of him or what would you wish to be?”  
One by one the other players came forward to whisper their opinion on Courfeyrac the penknife in the Captains ear. The captain took her place at the mantle again and announced grandly:  
“My dear friend Courfeyrac is like a penknife, he has a talent for smoothing feathers.” Courfeyrac beamed at Cosette, rushing towards her with a laugh.  
“Miss F, I know that was you! No other would refer to my talent for diplomacy.” Cosette agreed that it had indeed been her invention, and paid her forfeit in the form of a kiss to Courfeyrac’s cheek.  
Captain Crawford prepared herself for the next statement, but had trouble keeping a still face.  
“Were Courfeyrac a penknife, this gentle would wish to be a quill.”  
The rest of the group burst into peals of laughter.

“That was one of the Miss Martin’s that said so! I know it was!” cried Courfeyrac.  
“But which one?” asked Captain Crawford, barely keeping the command of her expression. She gestured expansively to the Miss Martins, pressed together on their single chair in their matching gowns.  
“If you cannot guess which one, I’m afraid you must pay the forfeit, Courfeyrac.”  
After a moment of scrutinising their smiling faces, Courfeyrac gave up, admitting defeat gaily. The eldest Miss Martin owned to the saucy statement and Courfeyrac knelt before her to pay his forfeit, mischief in his eyes. Cosette had not known Courfeyrac for very long, but her knowledge of his character was thorough enough that she knew for certain he meant to repay Miss Martin for her sauciness by putting her to the blush. When Miss Martin bent forward to accept a kiss, he gently turned her head to bestow a kiss on the dimple of her blushing cheek.  
Captain Crawford broke their gaze by continuing that Courfeyrac was like a penknife, so sharp you could cut yourself on him. This was guessed to be Éponine, who accepted a courtly kiss to her hand.  
‘Courfeyrac makes words flow sharply’ was wrongly ascribed to the Captain, for which the younger Miss Martin earned a lingering kiss on her cheek too.  
Thomas Davies was found out to be the mastermind of ‘All fine feathers must surely bend to his will’. Mister Davies attempted to pay his forfeit by stealing a kiss from Courfeyrac’s lips. Courfeyrac was a dreadful flirt, but he could not be called fast. His game was in eliciting tender emotions from his admirers, not flirtatious touches. He caught on to Mister Davies’ intentions and turned his head a the last moment, with a sly wink at Cosette. Mister Davies, who apparently fancied himself a charmer, was quite chagrined to find himself tenderly kissing Courfeyrac’s ear. The group broke into laughter so loud even Favourite came to see what happened, so Mr Davies had to hide his displeasure. Privately, Cosette thought that served him right. Courfeyrac’s friendly flirtations should not be taken as an invitation to take liberties and it was high time Thomas Davies learned that.  
Next, Captain Crawford’s own words were spoken – ‘keen edged in every sense of the word’– and she swept Courfeyrac up in a shocking embrace only to give him a chaste kiss on his forehead. The Miss Martin’s sighed in envy. Only the youngest Miss Martin remained with ‘he makes words flow sharply’ and with that it was her turn to be metamorphosed.  
She chose to be a rosebush, leading to many flattering comments about blooms and blushes. Only Thomas Davies chose to make an off-colour remark about pricks and thorns, which his charming smile could not smooth over. The more she heard of him, the more Cosette disliked him. He was a great deal too easy for the company, as if he was amongst his oldest friends and not people who had only made his acquaintance an half-hour ago. Neither did Cosette like the way he smiled at Miss Jondrette. His smile was quite superior, conscious of his charms and it gave Cosette an uncomfortable feeling. When it came to be Cosette’s turn to be metamorphosed, she looked Mr Davies right in the eye and said:  
“I would like to be an engine of war.”  
Captain Crawford, who had narrowed her eyes at Mr Davies’ pert behaviour more than once, reacted to this declaration with great delight. Once everybody had taken their time to contemplate this challenge –for a challenge it was– Captain Crawford relished the delivery of the pronouncements greatly.  
‘Miss Fauchelevent is like an engine of war, she wins conflicts gracefully’ came from Courfeyrac, but was spoken by the Captain with so much pride that Cosette guessed wrong and had to pay her forfeit. The next, ‘Cosette is like an engine of war, I have often prayed for her arrival,’ was unmistakably from the Captain, who paid her dues with a kiss to Cosette’s hair.  
‘Miss F is like an engine of war, dutifully serving her mother,’ came from the younger Miss Martin, who giggled while she brushed her lips against Cosette’s cheek.  
Mr Davies had come out with ‘Were Miss Fauchelevent an engine of war, I would stay far out of her way’. He gave her a kiss on her hand in a rather cowed manner. Good. Her message was clearly received. The last pronouncement therefore had to be Miss Jondrette’s, but its contents still surprised Cosette. ‘Miss Fauchelevent is like an engine of war, I would prefer having her on my side.’ Was Miss Jondrette still afraid Cosette was angry at her? Surely not?  
Miss Jondrette stood up to pay her forfeit and Cosette presented her cheek for a kiss. It was meant to be taken as an overture of friendship. In doing so, she must have confused Miss Jondrette, because the soft kiss meant for her cheek was felt also on the corner of her mouth. Their soft smiles were pressed together but a moment, as both ladies immediately stepped back blushing.  
New games were called for and impromptu dances begged for, but all Cosette could think of were Miss Jondrette’s soft lips pressed to her own. She resolved to put it out of her mind, because she was not the sort of Miss to take parlour games forfeits as anything more than they were meant to be. And yet, she thought of it the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we've gotten to the fun! I enjoyed myself so much with the parlour game (which is from a victorian book I lost the link to again)  
> If you were wondering, the -- dashes (as in --shire) are a thing I took from Jane Austen, so nobody has to worry about exactly where this is set.
> 
> I'm having fun with the soft romance. In the next chapter there will be a ball!
> 
> I hope you guys like it! Comments make my day (and sometimes my entire week)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Hair arranged and Flirtations danced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everywhere Cosette turns, she finds Miss Jondrette, even at the Assembly Ball.

“Are you sure you won’t join us?” Cosette asked, catching Marius’ eye in the looking glass. “I feel bad, asking you to do my hair for a dinnerparty you will not attend.”

 “I thank you, but no. I am looking forward to a quiet evening sitting with your mother and father.” He released the last piece of curling paper and carefully scrutinised the fall of the curl.

“According to the news your mother brought, my father could arrive this very evening and I could not bear to be away for any of the short time he’ll be able to stay.” He smiled at Cosette’s reflection. “And besides, I do not love dancing as you do and there is sure to be an impromptu dance party.”

Cosette laughed at him.  “I see how it is. You are playing at being a dutiful son, when really your father’s long awaited arrival is merely an excuse to not have to dance with the Miss Martins!”

Miss Euphrasie!” exclaimed Marius in feigned shock, “my desire to not be giggled at has nothing to do with the matter! If you do not hold your tongue I shall weave the Pomona ribbons in your hair. It will clash terribly with your garnets, don’t think I won’t!”

He fluttered the offending ribbon in front of her eyes.

“And for your information,” he continued, collecting some more ornaments that weren’t the dreaded Pomona green, “this dinner is one I would gladly have attended, were it not for my father. I have been hoping to renew an acquaintance and Mrs Martin’s parlour would be the perfect place for it.”

Cosette shot him an inquisitive look. Marius was not generally the sort of person to delight in having a large acquaintance.

“Did I forget to tell you? I heard my old neighbour, a lovely young lady called Éponine, just moved into the neighbourhood. Well, I say neighbour, but I am not sure where she actually lived, since we mostly met in the woods surrounding Grandfather’s estate. She was great company when Grandfather was not inclined to receive company or entertain a child. And now she’s joined our neighbourhood, isn’t it a delightful coincidence!”

Marius smiled happily while he decided between beads and pearls.

“I only saw her in passing and I do not think she recognised me and at any rate I could not stop to greet her, but she has grown so very pretty. I think she brought her sister Azelma with her, whom I do not know, but I’m sure she’s just as pleasant a young lady as Éponine used to be.”

He decided on beads, draping them over Cosette’s hair to plan their placement. His arrangement was ruined when Cosette suddenly turned towards him with a start.

“Marius, you can’t mean Miss Jondrette!” she gasped, “moved here just last week, with her little sister Azelma?”

“Oh, you’ve met?” said Marius, pleased. “Yes, I suppose that must be her. A sunny complexion and beautiful curls? I’m afraid I don’t know her family name, as we’ve never been formally introduced. It was a rather clandestine friendship, so I don’t know a thing about her family…”

Éponine Jondrette… Marius’ childhood friend. What a wonderful coincidence indeed. It was like Cosette could not turn a corner without encountering some novel insight into Miss Jondrette and her intriguing enigmatic smile. As Marius continued dressing her hair, arranging beads and talking of poetry, Cosette stared in the mirror and swore she would learn all of Miss Jondrette’s story.

 

~*~

  


Cosette turned her mare into the lane, looking longingly at the forest and open fields she was turning away from. No groom could be spared to ride with her, so she had to confine herself to her father’s estate and not venture out on the more exciting paths. Her mare, Catherine, also seemed to long for a gallop down the hill and not a sedate trot across the lane that led around the borders of Madeleine Park. Neither Catherine nor Cosette gained much pleasure from traversing the same dull route. However, five minutes later, for Cosette the ride suddenly turned interesting. In the distance, she saw a lady in a smart black riding habit, very carefully and slowly advancing along the lane on an old grey mare. Cosette sped up to greet this fashionable intruder of her father’s land. It was Éponine Jondrette, feigning certainty while astride Simplice’s faithful steed. She looked up in shock at Cosette’s approach.

“Miss Fauchelevent! Have I strayed from the path too far? I only meant to take a turn and stay close to the house, but my horse seemed to know the way better than I did.”

She looked genuinely distressed at the thought of having trespassed.

“Have no fear, Simplice is always welcome in our park and Macaron knows it. You are of course welcome to do the same. May I accompany you back though?”

Miss Jondrette nodded her assent gratefully. Silence fell between the two ladies.

“The state of the road is quite perfect for a ride, is it not,” ventured Miss Jondrette, blush colouring her softly dark features.

“Indeed it is,” said Cosette, glancing at her surreptitiously, “and the weather is very fine. So fine I could not possibly stay indoors. I ventured out without a groom because I just had to enjoy some outside exercise.”

This inane comment rightfully did not get more reply than an assenting murmur. Cosette cast around wildly for anything to say. Miss Jondrette was very fashionable, but speaking only of clothes might make Miss Jondrette think Cosette had no more conversation than silly superficial topics. She would not want her to think Cosette cared only for ribbons and laces, even if Cosette would love to ask who made that charming coat she was wearing when Cosette first saw her. Then, her mind lit upon the perfect subject.

“Are you not acquainted with Mr Marius Pontmercy? He told me you were quite the pair of forest friends.” Miss Jondrette looked up, shocked. “You know Marius?” She looked almost suspicious.

“Oh yes, he has been my dear friend for many years. His father and my mother served together, so we -with intervals- grew up together. He told me you were neighbours?”

Miss Jondrette relaxed her tight hold on the reins. The docile mare had not even reacted to the rough treatment.

“Yes indeed, we lived quite near each other and often played in the woods together.” She smiled down fondly. “at one moment I was half convinced I was in love with him, so much did I look forward to seeing him. I must have behaved like such a puppy…”

“You too?” exclaimed Cosette, delightedly. “For a while he was taken away by his grandfather and I was sure I would die of a broken heart. We had plans to marry, insofar as children can really plan such things. I believe we were going to get married in church and then go live on the Weston farm and eat strawberries every day.” She smiled at the cherished memories. Miss Jondrette looked at her with searching eyes. Her dark riding habit would have made her look very poised, stern, were it not for the rakish angle of her hat. Even with the exercise, her curls still looked like perfection. “Are you engaged then?” asked she. A moment later she seemed to have realised what exactly she had asked. “I do apologise, I did not mean to be so forward.”

“No apologies necessary. Our engagement was broken off, tragically, when we were both of an age to discover that our natural inclinations were not, shall we say, compatible with marriage to each other. Not that I mean to be indelicate—”

With great control, Cosette supressed the urge to groan audibly. What ever was she thinking, speaking of such improper things to a lady she had only gotten acquainted with so recently. But they had gotten along so well and something about Miss Jondrette made Cosette want to confide in her, to make her laugh. An awkward silence fell. Miss Jondrette fell back to the safety of commonplaces before Cosette could do so.

 “I was sorry to miss you at Mrs Martins dinnerparty yesterday. We had been invited, but my sister did not quite feel well and I was obliged to sit with her.”

“Oh your sister? I hope she is quite recovered. Are you referring to Miss Azelma by any chance?”

“You know of her?”

Miss Jondrette looked shocked and slightly suspicious.

“Oh yes, we met the other day when I had cause to rescue her from the perils of a broken shoelace.”

“So you were the pretty lady who acted as her rescuer! At least that is how she told the story, she had forgotten your name. I thought it might be you, from her description, but I could not be certain. I thank you for your pains in getting her safely home.”

“I took no pains, it was my pleasure. She is a very pleasant girl.” With great control, Cosette managed to not show her pleasure in the fact that Éponine connected her with the description of a pretty lady. But perhaps Azelma had continued the description with details of her coat and Miss Jondrette did seem the kind to take careful note of others’ mode of dress.

They continued on in silence for a bit more, until the path back to Simplice’s house came in sight. Macaron turned into it without regard to Miss Jondrette’s wishes. Cosette hid her smile behind her polite goodbyes. Miss Jondrette mirrored her goodbyes with that soft, puzzling smile. A moment later, she turned back to call out:

“I hope I will see you at the Assembly Ball, Miss Fauchelevent?”

“Indeed you will, I have been looking forward to it very much.” Cosette did not have the courage to ask Miss Jondrette to reserve a dance for her, for which she still berated herself when she arrived at the house.

~*~

Cosette was chatting with the Miss Martins so that Marius, soberly dressed and thus sticking out terribly in between the bright dresses and suits in the Assembly room, could slyly make his way to the other side of the room. The Miss Martins were sweet girls, but they had the tendency to giggle and fancy that any gentle who blushed at their teasing was violently in love with them. Marius agreed to accompany Cosette only if she made sure he did not have to dance with anyone he did not feel comfortable with. Cosette had no problems engaging the Miss Martins in conversation and for a dance later in the evening. Only when she saw Marius safely preparing to stand up with Captain Crawford, did she excuse herself to find her own partner. Captain Crawford was as inveterate a flirt as the Miss Martins, although they could not pretend to have her smooth charm, but Marius’ respect for those in his father’s profession made him curiously comfortable with her flattery, when she chose to employ it. The Captain liked Marius, with his serious demeanour and Romantic ideals, but she wouldn’t make him uncomfortable for the world. She did not generally turn her charm to people who would not welcome it, and she was amiable enough only to make herself congenial company for Marius and others like him not interested in romantic relations.

For the Assembly, any person who could afford a ticket gathered, meaning more than just those in her immediate neighbourhood were attending. This broadening of their usual society meant everyone took the opportunity to show off, though not going to the lengths they would for a private ball. However, some familiar faces from the neighbourhood were missing. The absence of Courfeyrac’s charm was widely lamented. His parents had taken him and his nearest friends to the capital to celebrate their freedom from the hallowed halls of learning. Cosette found Suzanna Combeferre visibly missing her brother’s conversation. She was sitting with Mr Florian Lucas, who was blushing at her in silence, the poor shy man. Messieurs Combeferre and Courfeyrac, unconventional as their efforts were, were very good at coaxing conversation from shy people. Suzanna Combeferre was having less luck. Cosette took pity on them both.

“Miss Combeferre, I think we are engaged for the next?”

“Oh, is this the Mr B already?” She stood and smiled kindly at Mr Lucas. “If you’ll excuse me?” Mr Lucas nodded his assent, not quite succeeding in hiding his relief to be relieved from the burden of conversing with a handsome girl.

Cosette spent a pleasant half hour listening to Suzannah’s accounts of the time many years ago, when her brother and she first learned this dance and she had to endure his rants on the disappointment that a dance called ‘Mister Beveridge’s Maggot’ actually contained no maggots at all, but was merely a quaint way to refer to a fanciful idea. After that she joined forces with Captain Crawford and succeeded in persuading her mother to dance. Fantine held the ridiculous notion that with a daughter fully grown up and out, her dancing days were over, though she liked the amusement immensely. Captain Crawford believed that as officers it was their duty to make merry and make sure no wallflower was left to blush unseen.

Cosette danced the next with Marius, chatting happily all the while. It was only after that, when Marius had stolen away for some quiet, that her happiness was intruded upon by his far inferior cousin.

“Miss Fauchelevent, don’t you think it’s time that we show these rustics how a minuet is done in the fashionable world?”

Cosette curtsied at Marius’ handsome cousin with only barely hidden bad grace. She looked around for anyone who might distract him from her. Someone pretty to flatter his vanity would do the trick. Lieutenant Theodule Gillenormand did not often venture away from the capital, but since Marius grandfather, Mr Gillenormand, controlled his purse-strings tightly, he was sometimes forced to do so in the name of familial obligations. His countryside acquaintance was in turn forced to pretend his return was a pleasure. Perhaps Cosette was being unjust, but he made Marius feel off-balance and he flirted with Cosette abominably, which was enough grounds to dislike him heartily. She had no desire to dance with Theodule. He might have an expert command of gallantry, but he lacked the underlying kindness necessary to make him truly pleasant company. He was, to quote a very clever story Cosette read recently, only amiable in the French sense of the word. He was also, regrettably, completely incapable of realising not everyone found his little jokes delightful.

She glanced around the room again. Even the Miss Martins were engaged and could not serve as her excuse. Declining his offer would mean no more dancing for the night, as well as being forced to decline every offer, no matter how much she had longed for the opportunity to dance. She could feign ignorance of the dance in the hope he’d go and find someone else, but it was well known that the minuet de Don Giovanni was a particular favourite of Cosette’s.[1] It was a playful dance based on the opera and while it only ended in a brief kiss on a gloved hand, many matrons deemed it too warm for young gentles. That it was included in this ball was an unexpected delight, and Cosette had looked forward to playing either scandalous Don Juan or dancing the part of his by turns blushing and scornful love. There was little pleasure to be had in dancing with someone like Theodule, whose vanity might flatter itself into thinking her smiles were more than a play at politeness and that his advances were welcome. Should she submit to dancing her favourite dance, drained of all enjoyment? Or should she resign herself to an evening of sitting down and refusing all offers? Thereby insulting the friends she had already engaged to dance with?  She turned to take Theodule’s outstretched hand, but in doing so she got distracted by the approach of Miss Jondrette and her dance partner, a dark-haired young gentleman who looked vaguely familiar. They insinuated themselves between Theodule and Cosette, smiling brightly. Miss Jondrette softened her smile when looking at Cosette and Cosette suddenly felt very hopeful.

“I believe, Miss Fauchelevent, that this is our dance?” said Miss Jondrette brightly.

The dance partner, who Miss Jondrette did not introduce, smirked at Theodule, and whispered something in Miss Jondrette’s ear before bowing himself out of their circle. Whatever he said, it made Miss Jondrette stifle a giggle, before she smiled encouragingly at Cosette, which clarified matters. This was  a rescue. How Miss Jondrette knew she was in need of one, Cosete could not say, but she was intensely grateful. She made her excuses to Theodule, who looked entirely unaffected, and escaped without feeling obliged to offer him another dance by virtue of being struck dumb at the feeling of Miss Jondrette tucking Cosette’s hand in the crook of her arm and leading her away. The moment they were out of earshot, Miss Jondrette bend her head close to Cosette and whispered, “I was right, was I not, to come to you aid? R assured me you would appreciate the intervention, and you did look like you wished for the heavens to open up on Theodule?”

Cosette smiled in answer. Of course, if Miss Jondrette knew Marius of old, it made sense she was familiar with Theodule’s ways as well.

“Yes, I thank you. I was trying to think of a polite way to refuse him, so you were a very welcome saviour.” Walking closely side by side, they were nearly of a height, but Miss Jondrette’s curls piled high atop her head and twined with ribbons made her just a slight bit taller.

They were now so close that Cosette could see that her deep dark eyes held specks of warm golden light. Possibly a mere reflection of the candle light, but beautiful nonetheless. Miss Jondrette stopped suddenly, frozen still on the edge of the space the other dancers were lining up. She looked mortified.

“Miss Fauchelevent, I did not realise, I am so sorry, I was so set upon stealing you out of Theodule’s pompous clutches that I did not stop to consider that I do not know this dance!” She looked as if she had committed a mortal sin instead of a kindness to someone who could not yet claim her friendship.

“I do apologise. I have seen it performed, and I may have tried some of the steps but it was not encouraged at school and I have never danced it in public before.”

Cosette nearly giggled at her mournful expression. She looked very becoming, looking at Cosette with a blush rising and her large beseeching eyes. It made Cosette want to do anything to make her smile again.

“It is a shocking dance to be sure, and I rarely get the pleasure to dance it. But if you do not know it, I will be just as happy to sit down with you.”

Despite Cosette trying her best to be reassuring, Miss Jondrette flinched.

“Oh no! We must find you another partner, if you do not often get the pleasure. It looks like such an entertaining dance!”

Miss Jondrette was beseechingly pressing Cosette’s hand and talking so effusively Cosette would have approved any plan she made. She was very glad that none of her childhood friends had possessed such a mellifluous voice. She had gotten into enough mischief without a friend with such a convincing manner of speaking. However, she did not want to give up the pleasure of having Miss Jondrette’s company to herself for the full half hour.

“Perhaps,” she said, taking Miss Jondrette’s hand in hers to led her to the back of the room, “if we dance here, out of view, I could teach it to you? It is a particular favourite of mine and I’m sure you will like it. And dance it beautifully.”

It wasn’t idle flattery. Cosette had seen Miss Jondrette dance earlier that evening, moving about the room elegantly with her wild-haired friend. They made a very handsome couple, visibly enjoying every step. Miss Jondrette raised her eyes to Cosette’s, brimming with enthusiasm.

“I would like that very much.”

“Well then, Miss Jondrette,”said Cosette, arranging them both to face the orchestra, ready for the dance to begin, “allow me to be your Don Juan for the evening.”

She threw an exaggeratedly roguish wink to Miss Jondrette on her right. Miss Jondrette giggled and turned her head away modestly. She could not quite conceal her grin.

“If you are to be my lover tonight,” said she, smiling brightly, “won’t you call me Éponine?”

“Certainly. It is Cosette, then,” agreed Cosette gratified, “but for now, let us begin our courtship, Madam. Our dance involves a great amounts of low révèrences and nothing too challenging. Unless-“ She turned back to Éponine, “are you familiar with the _pas de bourré_? It is the lone step that is not intuitively mirrored and could make this dance complicated.”

Éponine laughed, eyes shining. “I know it very well. Azelma and Gavroche – my little brother- like to perform it and the _pas de italienne_ for guests, while stealing their coins right out of their pockets.” The both laughed at the image, but Éponine sobered quickly. “They gave everything back, of course.”

“Oh have no worry, I was a little hellion in my youth too. The things my parents could tell you of the mischief I got into!” Éponine looked disbelieving, but luckily Cosette was saved from owning up to exactly how much of a terror she had been by the music starting. She started out dancing only the steps while whispering instructions, but leaving out the theatricality that made this dance such a spectacle. Éponine played her part so well with encouraging smiles and modest blushes that she started to add the gallantry that made a true Don Juan. Though she danced the rest of the night until she could dance no more, nothing was quite as exhilarating as seeing Éponine smile down on her while Cosette knelt and pressed a kiss to her hand. A full dance of smiling caresses and coy evasions had left them both blushing and with racing hearts. Looking up at her, Cosette could say with absolute certainty that Éponine was the most beautiful girl in the room.

 

[1] From the 1787 Opera by Mozart, this wouldn’t be danced at balls like these, but I love it so they do perform it here.


	4. Parasols Abandoned and Hearts Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duchess Elinor Standen gives a tea party, Cosette employs her parasol and Éponine runs down some hills.

**Chapter 4** **: Parasols abandoned and hearts broken**

Cosette did not often move in lofty circles like the one she found herself in now. She had not been presented at court because both her mother’s and father’s past would not bear the scrutiny of a London season. Both were also wary of fortune hunters and other adventurers who might be attracted to her large fortune, a not unreasonable concern as they had found. The odd baronet aside, their quiet community of -- remained largely undisturbed by nobility. The only exception being Duchess Elinor Standen, who blew into town without warning, charmed everyone with her good-natured chatter and flew away again with the changing winds or the demands of her friends. The Duchess was a great beauty, with a much admired plumpness and a matching soft disposition. She was instantly a friend of everybody she encountered and she did not stand upon ceremony at all. The most frequent words one could hear her speak to a new acquaintance were ‘Oh dear, call me Elinor, I never stand upon ceremony! In fact, I insist upon it’.

Elinor was greeting each and every one of the guests to her garden party with an affectionate embrace and effusive compliments to the friend who had opened up his garden to her entertaining. Laurent Prouvaire himself was nowhere to be found, so all compliments of his beautiful roses had to be paid to the duchess in his absence. The baronet his wife was holding court in one corner of the garden with her own particular friends and Cosette made sure not to move their way after she had greeted Elinor, as the baronet and her friends liked to dictate propriety to young gentles at the slightest provocation. It was no surprise that their only child was likewise nowhere to be seen. Cosette had never made the acquaintance of Jehan Prouvaire, as they were rather shy and frequently ran away from parties to make their own adventures, but they were well-known for their wild ways and sweet disposition.

Cosette hid behind her parasol to avoid getting drawn into conversation with Elinor’s companion. Theodore was an older cousin who accompanied Elinor on her travels to lend her an air of propriety. Theodore was not a bad choice of companion for the flighty duchess. He was a man who delighted in gossips of all kind and once embroiled in a conversation with him, one could not escape without giving a thorough account of the goings on of every mutual acquaintance. The clever use of her parasol absolved her from the need of detailing every a marriage and flirtation that had taken place since she saw Elinor and Theodore last. It also made her bump into Éponine, who was likewise hiding behind her parasol. This was a very fortunate turn of events, so after a perhaps too long period of ascertaining no gowns had perished in the collision, Cosette immediately offered Éponine her arm so they could admire the garden together, away from the crowds.

After walking a while in the shrubbery talking of commonplaces, they found themselves a bench near a weeping willow to sit down. The faint smell of roses was in the air and the sunlight dappling through the leaves made Éponine’s eyes sparkle. Cosette was sure that this was happiness. They sat and talked of their childhoods and their time at school. Out of habit, Cosette did not speak of her infancy or of the time before her mother had found Mr Valjean. The time before he had bought Fantine a commission and they became a family was vague in her mind. But Éponine seemed to likewise evade topics. She spoke of the dolls she had as a young girl, but nothing of later times. Only about the last year and her experiences at her school did she have many stories. After a while they agreed to explore the garden a little more, to not waste the sunlight they had to miss the past few days. Rain had kept them indoors, giving this fine day in the lovely garden an extra shine. Parasols abandoned on the seat, they walked on, arm in arm.

“Cosette, your sash is becoming untied. Allow me to fix it for you,” said Éponine, before the turn that would bring them back into company.

Cosette readily turned her back to Éponine, grateful for any excuse to stay hidden among the shrubberies, alone with Éponine. But then she had Éponine’s hands on her waist, her fingers pressing against her stays and her soft breath against her bare neck. If Cosette would only turn around, she would find herself in Éponine’s arms. The feeling was intoxicating.

“There,” said Éponine softly, hands lingering on Cosette’s waist. “All proper again, no need to fear returning to the others.” Cosette turned back to her with the intention of expressing her thanks and suggesting they go in search of the ices Eleanor had promised. Face to face with Éponine, with the sunlight glinting on the curls so artfully arranged on her face, Cosette lost her words. She lost all courtesy, all commonplace civility, and could only lose herself in Éponine’s dark eyes. Éponine might have been similarly spellbound, or possibly just politely wondering what had Cosette so distracted, but their positions, faces close together, one hand still lingering on Cosette’s waist, felt as natural as anything. Cosette regained command of herself and tried to marshal her feelings enough to suggest they leave, walk back to their chaperones and return to polite conversation and society. She could not. Éponine’s fingers played with the bow around her waist and her cheeks were pinking slightly. Cosette lifted her hands to softly brush an errant curl away from her face, just to hide the movement to touch Éponine’s cheek she made without even thinking of it. She felt that maybe, if she dared ask, Éponine might give her permission to touch her, to feel if that slight dusting of pink meant Éponine’s cheeks were as heated as her own.

They both seemed frozen like statues with wildly racing hearts, unwilling to break away, until the loud intrusion of laughter forced them to spring apart. A young gentleman, accompanied by a lady in a very loud walking suit, turned the corner not twenty paces away from them. They were far too absorbed in their argument to have noticed the two ladies in an indecently close tableau, but it was too late. The world had intruded upon their peace and the illusion of privacy was broken.

Cosette regained her sang-froid, calmed her heart and gallantly offered Éponine her arm.

“Shall we go and try those lauded ices for ourselves, Miss Jondrette?” she said, with a foppish air to hide how much she wished to do the exact opposite.

Éponine took her arm, but did not move otherwise. Fearing another tableau and the notice of the arguing couple, Cosette opened her mouth to repeat the oft-spoken praises of the ices that were supposed to be on offer.

“Cosette,” said Éponine softly, before Cosette could start in on the delights of frozen treats, “would you perhaps, if I do not ask too much, could you show me to the pond? It is said to be very fine.”

Cosette looked at her with a puzzled expression. The pond was certainly not one of the marvels of this garden. The shrubbery was well-made, the rose garden exquisite and the avenues certainly very grand, but the pond had been generally neglected. It hadn’t even been stocked since, as the rumour had it, the Prouvaire child had objected to the gamekeeper’s way of transporting the fish.

“Are you sure?” Cosette asked, one eye on the slowly approaching couple. “The area will be damp, I am sure of it.” Éponine coloured even more and Cosette cursed herself in some very ungentle terms for making her feel uneasy. “Of course I would be delighted to show—”

“I don’t care about the pond” Éponine burst out. Immediately she clasped her hand over her mouth as if that might still stop the words.

“Oh?” asked Cosette, cautiously.

“I have no interests in ponds, lakes or streams whatsoever. I just wished to delay our return to the general company for a little longer. I apologise, it was—”

“I’d be delighted to! Oh- I’m sorry for speaking over you, it’s just that that was exactly what I was wishing, I just didn’t know how to say that I dreaded breaking our comfortable tête-a-tête in a way that didn’t seem terrible improper!” exclaimed Cosette, relieved. “We will walk towards the further grounds to find a good prospect of the garden and you must tell me everything about the friends you left behind at school or the journeys you mean to make or I do not what, just let us talk a little longer!”

Cosette saw no reason to hide her eagerness now she knew Éponine was just as desirous of her company. Or perhaps not quite desirous in the same manner, but wishing to not be parted as friends do at least.

Together they turned away from the noise of the party and back towards the sunny garden. The further they got from the shrubbery, the more the terrain necessitated the lifting of their trains. Delighted to be really properly alone, Cosette kicked up her skirts as she used to do when she was a child, to feel it flutter around her ankles with every skip. Only after she did it, did she realise how much that must inconvenience Éponine, who with her hand in the crook of Cosette’s arm must have been unpleasantly jolted by the childish behaviour. A look at her face disproved that theory. Éponine was fighting to hold back giggles.

Cosette began an apology, which was immediately silenced by Éponine, who was regarding her with calculating eyes.

“I think this game might be improved upon,” said Éponine with a glint in her eyes, freeing her hand from Cosette’s arm. “Here, give me your hand.” And, daintily picking up her train in her right hand, Éponine fitted her left in Cosette’s gloved hand. “And now, if you’ll permit me a very unladylike action,” here Éponine hoisted up her skirts high enough to show her very fine ankles in lovely white stockings. Cosette did not know what to be shocked by more, the exceedingly polite Éponine showing off her ankles or the fact that she allowed Cosette to hold her hand. Asked her too, even. The stockings were embroidered. A dainty green motif that suited Cosette’s blue gown more than Éponine’s soft pink. Cosette wondered if the garters were picked to match the green or the pink. A dark green ribbon would look enchanting on Éponine’s skin. Blushing heavily and forcibly tearing her thoughts away from these scandalous thoughts, Cosette obeyed the pull of Éponine’s hand and hastily lifted her skirts too so they could both rush down the gentle incline of the path. Embarrassment was soon forgotten when they crested a new hill and found a winding, sloping path to run along. The second hill, even taller, was attempted too. Éponine, still holding Cosette fast, pulled her up with reckless abandon. She was far stronger than Cosette, who was powerless to do anything but laugh breathlessly and follow her, the ribbons from their neatly tied bonnets flowing behind them. Narrowly evading a tree root, they came to a halt on the hill which overlooked the park. From their high vantage point, they could make out figures with parasols on the lawn, but all too far away to be able to even guess at their identity. They were truly and completely alone.

Dropping her train to the ground, Cosette leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She had not run so fast in years, nor laughed so much while doing it. Éponine too, was winded, pressing her free hand into her waist, swinging their clasped hands.

Cosette stilled. Éponine was looking at her in such a way that all thought of ices or obligations left her. All that filled her mind was the thought that Éponine was so very pretty, that Cosette could look at her forever. Could gaze happily at the dark eyes gazing back at her, could stand here admiring the pretty pink lips curved up in a soft smile. Cosette felt sure that her answering smile could not communicate half so much, nor command a fraction of the loveliness of Éponine’s smile. And yet she felt the need to try and answer it in full. To communicate, to be certain that she was not alone in this. To let it be known that, whatever emotions Éponine was speaking of in glances and smiles, Cosette felt them too. She took a step closer, she knew not to what purpose. Just to be closer, to eliminate all distance between them. Éponine looked down, just for a moment, dark lashes throwing delicate shadows over her cheeks. Cosette moved closer again, unwilling to lose her gaze for even a moment. So close where they now, that when Éponine lifter her free hand to tuck a curl back under her bonnet, her hand brushed against the soft folds of Cosette’s gown. Cosette caught it in her own and thought she couldn’t possibly explain this happy rush of feelings. Words failed in the face of the contentment she felt at holding Éponine’s hands, of seeing her smile solely for her. She couldn’t communicate the way she felt in words, she didn’t know how. Éponine solved her problem with a smile and brought their faces closer together. For a brief moment their lips brushed tantalisingly, but then their bonnets knocked together, their hair pins protested the violence and both girls sprang apart. Recollection rushed in and the world and its obligations forced itself upon the once more.

“I can’t,” Cosette said, visions of a future with Éponine by her side disappearing under the obligation that had been banished from her mind entirely.

“I can’t, I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to explain, to even think anything beyond the thought that her happiness was being torn away by an obligation forced upon her. But Cosette could not forswear this oath, even if it was not sworn by her. Her fiancée might be an unknown, might be the barrier between Cosette, and everything she wanted, but Cosette would not dishonour their engagement. Not even for Éponine. Not even for beautiful, kind Éponine Jondrette, who was at this time clasping her hands, earnestly entreating her to tell what ever was the matter. Cosette could bear it no longer. She threw herself in Éponine’s embrace, clinging to her desperately and wept into her shoulder.

“I am engaged,” she burst forth at last, “I am engaged through no will of my own, to a person I have never met and we can never be together!” This served as no explanation at all and all Éponine’s kind entreaties only served to make Cosette sob harder.

At length Cosette collected herself, recollected that they were still in the park, that anyone could intrude upon them at any moment. With iron will she freed herself from Éponine’s embrace, hardened her heart to the tears glistening in her eyes and took several steps backwards. Feeling cold and lost, she drew her shawl about her. With straight spine and a breaking heart she said, “I apologise, Miss Jondrette, for any pains I may have given you. I acted only out of friendship and did not mean to raise any expectations I was not free to raise. My feelings were—” The look on Éponine’s eyes was indescribable. She could not leave her like this.

“I hope you know you have engaged my heart completely,” cried Cosette, sobbing anew. “Were I free to do so I would pledge you my troth with the happiest of hearts. Please believe any hurt I may have done to your heart will be doubly echoed in my own. Goodbye.” And with that she bowed and rushed away, leaving Éponine alone, standing frozen n a pretty park that had now lost all its beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, dear reader. This is the most angst I will ever allow into these stories. You probably already see the solution and I promise you, it's going to be delightful. There will be one more chapter and an epilogue I think. If there's something you'd like to see in this universe, do please let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> And now the fun will begin!  
> Thanks to Sunfreckle for betaing and cheerleading because I've been writing this for ages and would have let it dissapear without her encouragement.
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you thought, I'm still writing the ending chapter and comments are invaluable for that! This story isn't quite finished yet, so if there's something you'd like to see, please tell me!  
> ~!  
> Thanks for reading!


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